Cal shifts so he can hold the pup one-handed and drink his tea, which is strong and good. He says, “I’ve been asking around about Brendan Reddy.”

“I know, yeah,” Lena says. Her puppy, exhausted by its efforts, has collapsed on her lap. She tickles the tiny pads of one paw. “Why?”

“I met your old friend Sheila. She’s pretty cut up about her boy going off.”

Lena shoots him an amused look. “Knight in shining armor?”

“Just saw a question that needed answering,” Cal says. “My neighbor Mart, he thinks I’m bored, looking for something to occupy my mind. He might be right.”

Lena blows on her tea and regards him across the mug, still with that wry quirk to one corner of her mouth. “How’re you getting on with it?”

“Not too good,” Cal says. “I’ve heard plenty about Brendan, but no one wants to talk about where he might have gone, or why.”

“Maybe they don’t know.”

“I’ve talked to his mama, his two best buddies, and his girlfriend. Not one of them had anything to say. If they don’t know, who would?”

“Maybe no one knows.”

“Well,” Cal says, “I did wonder about that. But then Mart warned me to back off, the other night. He thinks I’m gonna get myself in trouble. That sounds to me like someone knows something, or thinks they do.”

Lena is still watching him sideways on, as she drinks her tea away from the pup. “Are you one of those people that can’t rest easy? If they don’t have any trouble in their lives, they go looking for some.”

“Not me,” Cal says. “What I went looking for was peace and quiet. I’m taking what came my way. Same as you are.”

“These pups are hassle. They’re not trouble.”

“Well,” Cal says, “no one’s explained to me how Brendan Reddy might be trouble, either. Who’s Mart scared of?”

Lena says, “I didn’t think Mart Lavin was ever afraid of anyone.”

“Maybe not. But he thinks I should be.”

“Then maybe you should.”

“I’m contrary by nature,” Cal explains. “The more people try to shoo me away from something, the more I dig my heels in. I always was that way, even as a little guy.” His puppy has eased its gnawing on his finger; when he looks down he sees that it’s fallen asleep, sprawled gracelessly against his chest, in the cup of his palm. “I figure,” he says, “if anyone in this townland’s gonna give me a straight answer about Brendan Reddy, it’ll be you.”

Lena leans back against the wall and examines him, drinking her tea and stroking her pup with her free hand. In the end she says, “I don’t know what happened to Brendan Reddy.”

“But you could take a guess.”

“I could, yeah. But I won’t.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind that scares easy,” Cal says. “Any more than Mart does.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t get involved in things.” She grins suddenly. “That does people’s heads in. There’s always someone trying to get me to join the Countrywomen’s Association, or the Tidy Towns. Probably if we’d had kids I’da done it: the PTA and sports clubs, and all the rest. But we never did, so I don’t have to. Sure, Noreen’s involved enough for the two of us.”

“That she is,” Cal says. “Some people are built that way, and some aren’t.”

“Tell that to Noreen. She’s been that way since the day she was born; it drives her mental that I’m not the same. That’s one reason why her and the rest are always trying to matchmake me. They think if I get myself a nice fella who’s up to his neck in the townland’s business, he’ll pull me in as well.” Lena gives Cal another grin, frank and mischievous, unembarrassed. “Which kind are you?”

“I enjoy being the kind that doesn’t get involved,” Cal says. “That suits me down to the ground.”

Lena’s eyebrows lift a little, but all she says is, “You can do that; no one’ll give you hassle. People around here respect a man who keeps to himself. It’s just a woman that makes them nervous as cats.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to get involved,” Cal says. “I’m just asking for your thoughts.”

“And I’m not planning on sharing them. You’re well able to get your own.” She glances up at the clock ticking on the wall. “I’ve to head in to work. Tell me now, do you want this pup, or did you just want an excuse to ask me about Brendan?”

“Little bit of both.”

Lena eases her own pup back into the basket and holds out her hands for Cal’s. She says, “So you’ll take this fella.”

Cal puts the pup gently into her hands, trying not to wake it, and gives it a last stroke along the white blaze on its nose. The pup, still mostly asleep, lifts its face and licks his finger.

He says, “Gimme another week or two. Just to be sure.”

Lena looks at him for a moment, unsmiling. Then she says, “Fair enough.” She turns away from him and tucks the pup carefully in among the rest.

Trey shows up late in the afternoon. The rain has finally worn itself out, so Cal is sitting on his back step, having a beer and watching the rooks. Their day seems to be winding down. Two of them are playing tug-of-war with a twig; another two are taking turns preening each other, lazily, exchanging remarks about what they find. Another one is off under the dripping hedge, burying something and throwing sneaky glances over his shoulder.

The sound of feet in wet grass makes Cal turn. Trey comes tramping around from the front of the house and dumps a packet of little white-frosted cupcakes onto the step. “You need to quit doing that,” Cal says. “Noreen’s gonna call the cops on you.”

“Those aren’t from Noreen’s,” Trey says. He looks tense and skinny again. To Cal, squinting up at him from the step, he also looks a shade taller, like he might be starting his teenage growth spurt. “I knocked.”

“Didn’t hear you,” Cal says. “I was thinking.”

“I called round earlier. And yesterday. You weren’t in.”

“Nope.”

“What were you doing? You find out anything?”

Cal finishes the last of his beer and gets up. “First things first,” he says, brushing off his rear end, which is damp from the step. “I’m gonna get my gun and we can have another try at those rabbits.”